


The Big Sleep

by Yavannie



Series: Intermissions [4]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dreams, Dreams and Nightmares, F/F, F/M, Fever Dreams, Friendship, Mental Instability, Romance, Teen Angst, Teen Romance, mild Self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 20:32:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10647546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yavannie/pseuds/Yavannie
Summary: Post s01e10. Betty comes down with a fever and has some weird dreams to boot.Can be read as a standalone.





	The Big Sleep

On the Tuesday after the party, Betty can’t get out of bed. She sits up, but her arms won’t support her, and she slumps back down again. Her head is swimming and her mouth tastes foul.

 

“Mom,” she says, but it comes out as little more than a whisper.

 

They’re starting a new unit in English today, and she wonders how much she’d miss if she oversleeps now and misses first period. Then she remembers that mom won’t let her sleep past 7.15, and it will be all right, just a few more minutes, just another...

 

At 7.15, her mom is in the doorway, talking to her. Betty sees her slowly come into focus, arms crossed and a stern frown on her face. Eventually her voice filters through to her. “...not well, are you?” She turns and walks away again, and Betty tries her best to stay alert despite feeling so heavy all over that she can’t even move her legs.

 

Alice comes back with a thermometer, and Betty feels her pull at her ear before wedging it in there.

 

“103,” she mutters with a concerned frown. “I’ll call school.”

 

She brings Betty Aspirin, a pitcher of juice, lozenges and cooling gel sheets, turns her pillow over and puts her phone on the nightstand within easy reach.

 

“I’ll stay in today,” she says. “Let me know if you need anything.”

 

Betty nods. And then she sleeps.

 

* * *

 

At first, she dreams in textures and shapes. The world is soft and smooth, then gradually becomes rough and grating, before tipping over and smoothing out again. It goes on like this for a while. Smooth to rough. Round to square. From sand to pebbles to rocks and back again. Bit by bit, she becomes aware of herself, lying in bed. As if this is some ridiculously overblown metaphor for her life, she can see dark smoke billowing out from a hole in her chest, pulsating in time with her heart. The darkness coils into tendrils that snake their way around her legs and arms until she can’t move at all.

 

“This is unacceptable,” says her mom, standing by her side.

 

Her dad is there as well, looking at the darkness with mild disgust. “You did this, Alice,” he says accusingly.

 

“Of course not!” she spits. “It’s perfectly normal, she just needs to learn how to deal with it.”

 

Betty looks down at her hands. She can just about wiggle her fingers.

 

“You’re only making it worse, dear,” says mom, but she does nothing to help her.

 

“It’s poison,” says dad. “Take her to a doctor, I’ll make an appointment.”

 

“No appointments!” hisses mom.

 

 _Stop fighting_ , she wants to scream, but the smoke is slithering into her mouth, silencing her, worming its way into her lungs.

 

* * *

 

Her sheets are soaked when she wakes up, and she feels just as weak as before. Her mom comes in and helps her to a chair and then changes the bedding. She’s had texts from Jughead and Veronica, wanting to know where she is. She replies to Jughead first. It takes time, the words blurring together on the screen. Before she has managed finishing a reply to Veronica, she beats her to the chase.

 

_11.32am_

_Get well soon sweetie. Let us know if you need anything xoxo_

 

The thought of Jughead and Ronnie together in class, fussing over her, is strangely satisfying. She desperately wants both of them to realize they’re not that different from one another, but her attempts at mediating have thus far been unsuccessful… Or worse. Veronica hasn’t really given Jughead a second look, and as for him… The scenes at the party mercilessly replay in her head, and she has to take a deep breath to not get overwhelmed by guilt all over again. She looks at Ronnie's text one more time, lets it fill her with warmth. This is a good development, she thinks to herself.

 

“Back to bed,” says mom, patting the sheets.

 

She stumbles over to the bed and crawls under the covers. “Thanks mom.”

 

“Drink a little. And then get some more sleep.”

 

“I just hope I don't dream again,” she mutters.

 

Alice stiffens at that. “Why, what did you dream?”

 

Betty swallows. It hurts. “I don't know. It was some weird fever dream…” The details of it are coming back now and she regrets mentioning it; she doesn't like lying to mom. “Something about snakes?” she says lamely.

 

“I wouldn’t put too much stock in dreams,” her mom says firmly, handing her a glass of juice.

 

“I don’t,” says Betty, and wonders why it seems to mean so much to _her_.

 

* * *

 

“You don’t even know me,” says Jughead.

 

“You don’t even know _me_ ,” she replies, and he walks out.

 

They’re in FP’s trailer, or some twisted version of it. The living room is vast and empty apart from an unmade bed in a corner. A bunch of beer bottles are strewn across the carpet, and she hurries to pick them up, trying to hide them before he comes back.

 

“Take these,” she says to FP, who drifts into view. She presses the bottles into his arms, but he just laughs and starts throwing them at the wall, one by one, and the sound as they shatter into pieces is deafening.

 

“Good job, Betty,” says Jughead, who’s back in the room. His voice is dripping with sarcasm, just like when he talks back to his bullies.

 

* * *

 

She wakes with a start and sits up, the dreadful feeling of regret pressing in on her from all sides. _The party, the party, the goddamn party…_ She seems to remember every last detail with extreme clarity, and the one thing she keeps coming back to is Jughead’s face when she first saw him and how she _knew_ already then that it had been a horribly bad idea, the whole thing. But she pressed on, thinking that once he settled into it, he wouldn’t hate it at all, but enjoy it, and be grateful… With her fists bunched up into angry little balls, she smacks the sides of her head once, willing the memories to leave her alone.

 

“God,” she whimpers. Her head is pounding even harder than before now, and she opens her hands, fingers stiff and protesting.

 

It’s not that bad this time, but the scars are still fresh, and now she’s dug into them instead. Little flakes of skin and pieces of scabs stick out, and with delicate fingers, she scrapes and picks and pulls at them. Slowly, the tension dissipates, and the tears come. She snuffles while scratching away, thinking about nothing in particular.

 

After a while, she can hear her mom coming up the stairs, and she quickly gets under the covers, pretending to sleep. It’s only then she realizes just how exhausted she still is.

 

* * *

 

They’re at the back-to-school dance again, and she’s dancing with Archie. Veronica is there, and Cheryl, and Josie, and she can see Ethel dancing with Chuck.

 

“I feel kind of weird about this,” she says doubtfully. “Jughead isn’t even here.”

 

“Jughead doesn’t do dances,” says Archie. “You knew that.”

 

“Looks like your dancing days are over,” says Veronica before turning to Archie. “Do you mind?”

 

Veronica grabs her hand, and they move through the crowd. They follow a narrow corridor filled with people, and they shoulder their way on until they come to the parking lot. It’s cold and rainy, and she’s freezing.

 

“I’m cold, let’s go back,” she whines.

 

“Stop being such a wuss,” says Veronica, but Veronica is wearing Archie’s jacket and is clearly not cold, which all seems very unfair.

 

“What are we looking for?”

 

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t have asked you to help me, would I?”

 

Betty is speechless. “But… How can I help you if I don’t even know…”

 

“God, Betty, you’re useless,” says Veronica bluntly. “Lucky for you you’re still hot.”

 

They’re in Grundy’s car now, and Ronnie climbs into her lap and kisses her; it’s a deep, passionate kiss that sets off fireworks in her thighs that move up through her belly to burst into a thousand smoldering flakes in her chest.

 

* * *

 

She wakes up tingling all over from a half-forgotten dream. For the first time today, she doesn’t feel like her head is about to split open. Her throat is still sore and her mouth is dry, but at least she feels more or less present in the here and now.

 

Her dream was about a dance, she remembers. With a little pang of sadness, she realizes that she’ll never go to homecoming with Jughead. Sure, she could convince him, or he could pretend he’d be happy to go, like he did with the baby shower, but… No, she would _know_. Could she go alone? Would people talk? Maybe she could go with Kevin, she muses. Then suddenly she’s angry with herself for even thinking about this; it’s the least of _anyone’s_ problems.

 

There’s a soft knock on the door. The sound is so unexpected that for a second or two, she doesn’t know how to react; the only person who ever knocked on her door was Polly, and surely, _surely_ she’s not… Whoever it is knocks again, a little louder this time.

 

“Come in,” she says, her voice raw and gravelly.

 

The door creaks open slowly, Jughead leans inside hesitantly, and her heart leaps. On trembling arms, she scoots up into a half-sitting position.

 

“Hey,” he says. His eyes flicker from her face to her hair, then down to the assortment of boxes and jars cluttering her nightstand, and back to the bed. “You look terrible.”

 

“I _feel_ terrible,” she croaks. “What are you doing here? I don’t want you to catch whatever it is I’ve got…”

 

Jughead huffs, then plops down on the bed next to her. “Betty, with the amount of saliva we exchange on a regular basis I’m pretty sure I’m either immune or already infected.” He shrugs his bag off, starts rooting through it and yanks a folder out. “I picked up the English handouts for you. New unit. We’re starting with–”

 

“Emily Dickinson,” she says, taking the papers with a smile. “Thank you so much.”

 

“Not that I’m saying you should work when you’re sick, because you shouldn’t.”

 

“I will gratefully accept that valuable piece of advice, then proceed to ignore it.”

 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Uh… And another thing…” He pats his pockets, then fishes out a small, round jar.

 

“What’s this?” she asks, accepting it when he holds it out to her. It’s an unassuming little thing made from green glass. There’s no label, and the lid looks well-used. She opens it, and a sharp but fragrant smell fills the air. “Jughead, what is this?” she asks again.

 

Jughead doesn’t reply immediately. He’s staring at her vanity table. “A half-baked idea, apparently. It didn’t occur to me that you probably already had, like, fifty hand creams.”

 

Betty follows his gaze, landing on the assortment of bottles and tubes that clutter the space in front of the mirror. Then she looks back at the jar. She dips her finger in it, and carefully rubs a little of the sticky substance on the back of her hand. The smell reminds her of something from long ago, herby and fresh. “I didn’t have this one, though,” she says encouragingly.

 

He looks away, and mutters something that sounds like ‘ _stupid_ ’. “I should let you get back to sleep,” he says then, starting to get up.

 

“I feel like there’s a story behind this,” Betty says, grabbing his arm. “So tell me.”

 

He sinks back down with a sigh. “It’s just a stupid old…” he picks up the jar, turning it over in his hands. “Okay, _fine_. There’s this woman living not far from dad’s - a proper old crone, you know? Jellybean used to think she was an actual witch because she’s unmarried and dresses all in black and has a bunch of weird stuff in her trailer.”

 

“Stuff, what stuff?”

 

“You know, the usual. A cabinet with lots of little drawers filled with crap, like herbs and candles and crystals and whatnot. And she’s got all these bottles with questionable contents lined up in the window, and incense, animal skulls, a stuffed alligator…”

 

“ _A stuffed alligator?_ ”

 

“Yeah, anyway. She makes home remedies and ointments, and my mom used to get this for me and Jelly. It’s for minor cuts and scrapes and… Things like that.” He takes her hand, unfurls her fingers and gently runs his thumb over the raw, pink, flaky little half-moon scars.

 

She doesn’t want to meet his eyes. She feels ashamed; ashamed that he knows now, ashamed that it’s been on his mind. And at the same time, she’s grateful, because being alone with it has been _hard_. “Thank you,” she whispers.

 

“Betty, don’t pick at them,” he says, and he sounds so sad.

 

Then the door flies open, and they draw apart, Betty clutching the green jar and Jughead scratching his neck awkwardly. Alice stands there like the very embodiment of disapproval; at least that’s what she tries to let on. Betty still isn’t sure exactly what her mom thinks of Jughead, but considering the lack of attempts at derailing their relationship, it can’t be all bad. She shakes her hair back and clears her throat. “Jughead, thank you for bringing Betty her homework, but I think it’s time that she got some rest.”

 

Jughead quickly stands up, stuffing some stray papers into his bag. “Of course, Mrs Cooper,” he says.

 

“Alice,” she says tersely, turning on her heel.

 

“Yes, Alice, ma’am,” Jughead says, following her out of the room. He throws a glance at Betty over his shoulder, making a bewildered face at her.

 

Betty can’t do anything but shrug at him before he disappears down the stairs. With mom, who knows? Once she’s alone, she opens the jar again and puts some cream on her scars. It feels nice. She’s not sure if it feels better or worse than other products she’s tried, but the scent is comforting somehow. A few minutes later, her phone gives a happy little bleep.

 

_4.25pm_

_Meh, didn’t get to kiss you goodbye._

 

She leans forward to peer through the window. It used to be her and Archie doing this she thinks as she gives Jughead a little wave before turning to her phone.

 

_4.25pm_

_Don’t worry, you’re not missing much. I have TERRIBLE breath._

 

He laughs at that, and she does too. Then he mouths something at her, but seeing as she has zero lip reading skills even when her brain is fever free and fully functioning, she can’t guess what it is to save her life. She shakes her head, and points to her phone. He mimics a tired sigh, but picks his up again.

 

_4.26pm_

_Do I look like I care?_

 

So she throws him a kiss, and he catches it in his hand. When sleep comes to her again, it’s a dreamless one.


End file.
